Guest Right
by seven days later
Summary: Set after what I see as the pivotal scene in 'A Storm of Swords: Blood and Gold'. Tom sings a song, the knights of Hollow Hill do their dance, and Arya gets her vengeance.


_Set near the end of Storm of Swords, Part two. Just a bit of venting, really. I'm bending the timeline a little bit, but I'm sure that you'll agree, this is what deserved to happen. _

_Please don't judge me on my songwriting. Plus, he's meant to be adlibbing. _

_..._

WALDER FREY (the seventh of his name)

The feast was larger than she could have thought possible, even bigger than those at Kings Landing, and hugely more so than those at Winterfell. The cowardly Walder Frey sat on his throne like a great drunken chicken, bald jowls quivering as he laughed, and beside him, his young son sat, staring bleakly into the distance. The last time they had a feast this grand... though he supposed that was the occasion they were celebrating.

Through all of the people milling, laughing, and drinking, the fools tripped and fell, mocking as they went, and few spent them any real heed. Tom Sevenstrings played his best songs, about the men on the Wall, and the women of Dorne, slowly making his way towards the throne. Then, the procession arrived, of six, lining up before the late Lord Frey.

"Dance for me, fools." Walder glanced sideways at his father. He was drunk, already, and he knew that it was him who would have to keep order when it came time for all the fools and drunkards to leave. The fools bowed, one of them so deep that they fell over. It was classic, and worked the trick – Lord Frey laughed raucously.

Suddenly, a singer had leapt up on the plinth, and knelt before his father. Tensing, Walder reached for his sword, but there appeared to be no immediate harm. He thought of pushing the man back down with the rest, but he had already struck up a song, and he knew better than to interrupt a song his father was listening to. The singer's voice was fine, besides, like a fusion of silk and laughter.

First he sang a short ditty named "A man's best friend" which was about a man, and his sword, debatably. Letting himself smirk at the bawdiness of the song, Walder relaxed, watching the singer as he effortlessly introduced another song. Behind him, six other fools were dancing, entertaining the rest of the guests. Forcing himself not to worry, as they were mere fools, Walder looked back to the singer. He had called himself Tom of Sevens, which he found vaguely familiar.

The next song was called "Lady on the Wall" and was even bawdier than the last. Walder's father was in fits of laughter, wine spilled down his doublet as he hooted with mirth. Leaning back in his chair, Walder smiled. The man must have been a bit older than him, but obviously with less noble birth. When he finished the second song, all within earshot were listening, eager for another.

_One day there was a wolf, _

_But alas he could not swim._

_He asked the help of the river men;_

_On condition he was let in._

Walder frowned. This didn't have the promise of the first two songs. In fact, it was weak in comparison. It didn't even make sense.

_The wolf was grateful,_

_The river king had a daughter,_

_They made a treat, _

_And he swam across the water._

_He bed a young Western girl, _

_Fair of hair and face,_

_With more beauty than the river princess,_

_And with honest grace._

Lord Frey was frowning now. He couldn't determine whether it was he or King Robb who was being mocked, but he made no order, so none of his guards followed. The dancing fools before the plinth were acting out the scene. Three of them in the middle, a tall boy with black hair holding close a small boy, with a great yellow wig, sitting askew on his head. The other one, the river king's daughter, stomped angrily in her displeasure, the heavy boots of a man clanging a beat which followed the melodic strings of the singer's harp. Walder almost smiled, because he was still more pretty than half of his sister.

_And this young wolf, _

_He felt so bad,_

_He'd made an honest gaffe, _

_But honest or no, _

_No matter his honour,_

_He'd made the river king sad._

The rhythm was gone from his song, and he was merely playing a tune, his dangerously melodic voice chirping out the dreaded words. Still, Lord Frey said nothing, his eyes narrowed to slits in his wrinkled face.

_It's all well known he was a boy,_

_A tender six and ten,_

_But still, my lords, he was a king,_

_A king of all the realm._

Lord Frey bristled.

_When he heard this slight, _

_The river lord plotted, _

_And he made his move,_

_To take the wolf._

Walder should have been tensed, standing, ready to protect his father, but the voice was so beautiful, and he spoke such truth. He knew how the story was going to end. Everyone did, and everyone was listening now. The dancing fools were circling, the biggest of them all playing the part of the river lord.

_And take the wolf he did,_

_The poor boy died, _

_His mother too, _

_The river king sat on his throne, _

_And he laughed._

The dancing fools were too close, now, and the guard was reacting. But there were so many people, and there wasn't enough time. The smallest of them all, who had been Jeyne Westerling, leapt up onto the plinth, placing her feet on either side of Lord Frey's body as he shrank back in his chair beside him.

_The river men, they stabbed him through,_

_And they slit his mother's throat. _

_Yet this blood was not enough, _

_So they took his wolf as well._

Tom of Sevens had stood, instrument discarded, and his fools stood around him. Jeyne Westerling had something in her hand. Walder's eyes had widened.

_The river men, they didn't know,_

_But they'd made a grave mistake._

_They thought that they had won the war,_

_Yet one wolf remains._

"Mercy!" screamed Lord Frey, and Jeyne Westerling laughed, dancing backwards off the throne. The huge man – the river king - was in Walder's way, and Walder was no hero. Shrinking back under the ferocious gaze, he could only crane his neck to watch for his father's demise.

"You abuse the guest right, and you receive death as your penalty." The singer was talking now, and his voice was hard – nowhere near as beautiful as it had been. Jeyne Westerling was holding a knife to the babbling "river king's" throat.

"True Northerners take what they are owed." Jeyne was speaking; it was a woman's voice. A girl, maybe, because she was still very small. "You clearly thought that the Lannisters were the only House which would pay you their debts."

_FIN_


End file.
